The End of the World
by Satan Abraham
Summary: In which the Walkers are in the world of The Stand, where plague hits and kills off ninety-nine point nine percent of the population and Randall Flagg comes to take what's left. Rated T for language and violence.
1. Chapter One: Joliet, Illinois

_**Joliet, Illinois**_

"And with the new virus, now dubbed the 'Superflu' by some, spreading, it may be a while before-"

Collie Parker turned the TV off and sighed. That goddam 'superflu' had already taken half of his basketball team and it looked like they weren't going to be healthy in time for the summer basketball camp schedule to start. Collie himself was totally fine – not so much as a sniffle, but even the guy he was closest to on the team, a tall, dark, muscular fellow that never got sick, had sounded congested on the phone. That goddam superflu. News reporters talked about it all the time, the government said it didn't exist, none of it mattered to Collie. He wasn't sick. Sure, both of his little brothers had what could be it, and his father had started coughing a lot lately, but he hadn't been touched by it.

He was probably just too healthy for it. Collie Parker was seventeen years old, six feet even, a hundred and eighty pounds, almost all muscle. He didn't burn easily, instead tanned dark in the summer while his already light hair bleached. He didn't wear glasses. He didn't have knee problems or back problems. Really, his only illness was Chronic Swearing Disease. And there was nothing fuckin' wrong with swearing once in a while.

Maybe he'd stop by some of his teammates' houses. His entire family was asleep, it seemed; they wouldn't be bothering him for a while. He grabbed his shoes, an apple from the counter, and headed out.

It was… weirdly quiet, actually. Collie Parker didn't live in the quietest neighborhood, either, and it seemed that everyone was inside hacking away. That was his guess, anyway. That's what his family and teammates were doing; why the hell wouldn't the rest of the town be doing that, too?

He walked. He could use the exercise, anyway, between the end of track season and the start of basketball camp he literally had nothing going on and he was losing some of his endurance. This coming school year was his senior year and he wasgoing to take the basketball team to state (and win state) if it killed him.

That's why he had to check up on his teammates. Some people had died of this so-called 'superflu' and, though Collie was sure it was just old women and babies who had died, he needed to make sure none of his guys were in mortal danger. His Varsity team, from the starters to the kids that sat on the bench and never really got to play, was carefully sculpted and if one of them couldn't be there – especially one of the starters! – it would all be crashing down.

He couldn't let that happen.

He visited Nathan Walsh first. Nathan was one of the post players and the tallest guy on the team. He knocked, bouncing from foot to foot uncomfortably. Nathan's family was better off than the families in his neighborhood and this neighborhood made him uncomfortable. He knocked again, then rang the doorbell. Where the fuck was that goddam bastard?

Well, whatever. He'd just let himself in.

The door was unlocked. Someone must be home, then. Who the hell would be stupid enough to just leave their door open when they weren't there?

The smell was horrible; Christ, it was like someone had _died _in there. Now that Collie thought about it, that smell had been sort of there the entire time he'd been wandering around out there. Maybe this Superflu thing was something he should be worried about.

Nathan's room was on the second floor, first door on the left. Collie stepped carefully over some toys on the stairs – that's right, Nathan had little twin sisters – and opened the door.

Nathan was lying in bed. Collie wasn't totally sure if he was alive or not. The smell wasn't quite as bad in here; instead it was more chemical-laden, like someone had sprayed air freshener everywhere. Collie shut the door and walked across the room, nearly tripping over a pile of dirty laundry.

"Nate?" Collie asked, touching his arm cautiously. Now that he was closer he could see Nathan's chest move up and down but only a little. He really was sick.

Collie decided that he had to get out of there. Sick people, especially extremely sick people, freaked him out and he didn't want to stick around until the guy died. He left, nearly throwing up at the smell out in the hallway. At this point he was totally sure that Nathan's entire family was dead and rotting in their beds, and that was why it smelled so bad. Nathan would be dead in a few days.

Collie needed to get the hell out of Joliet.

But… first he would check up on a few other people. His point guard, a smaller, faster boy with dark brown hair and probably the palest, most susceptible to burning skin ever named Brett Glass was one, and also the guy he was closest to on the team, Mike Hart. Then maybe he'd check up on his latest flame, Rosemary Hoffman. She was a sweet girl, with long, curly blonde hair and brown eyes. He suspected she bleached her hair, but, then again, he had blond hair and brown eyes, and he'd never seen her with anything but blond hair.

Brett and Rosemary's houses were the same, except Rosemary was actually dead on the couch in her house. Collie only managed to not throw up until he got outside and emptied his stomach in the bushes lining her house. Alright. Mike would be okay. He had to be okay. Last night he'd been okay – the congestion he'd heard on the phone was just his imagination. Everyone else was sick so he'd imagined Mike was sick, too.

Mike's house was on the outskirts of Joliet. Collie ran there, only pausing once to duck into a gas station. It was empty, so he just stole a bottle of water and chugged it, throwing it to the side when he was done. Everyone was fuckin' dead anyway.

He had an idea that nearer to the center of Joliet there would be riots breaking out. The Anarchists coming out of their complaining about rules and actually doing stuff that they wanted to do.

Collie would probably join them once he checked up on Mike. Collie was an Anarchist – he even had a bandanna with the Anarchy symbol on it. But he'd grab it from his house once he was done with Mike.

Mike's house smelled a lot better than the others – well, of course it did, Mike lived with just his dad and his dad was gone half the time.

"Mike!" Collie yelled. "Mike, you in there?"

"Collie? Is that you?" Mike asked. He poked his head out of a window and waved. Collie's heart sunk. Goddam it, he did sound sick. "Might wanna stay outside. I don't want to… get you sick or anythin' like that."

"Fuck that," Collie said, opening the door and heading in. Mike rolled his eyes and turned to face him. "It's so goddam empty out there."

"Everyone that's not sick is near the middle of town," Mike said, shrugging. "I was there for a little bit. Thought it was something you'd like."

"Yeah, I'm heading over there. Just wanted to check up on you. Rosemary's dead. Brett and Nathan are almost there, I think," Collie said, shrugging. "Dunno where my mom is, both little brothers are in the same boat as Brett and Nathan, and Dad… well he's hacking out his lungs, I think. I'm glad he's doin' that instead of harping on Mom for not being sick yet."

"Yet? You're talking about it like it's the end of the world," Mike said, grinning a little.

"What if it is?" Collie said.

…

After finishing up his conversation with Mike, Collie headed home to get his bandanna and a decent pair of shoes. The ones he was wearing now were nearly falling apart.

Now that he thought about it, he should probably get a shirt on, too. Maybe some jeans instead of his basketball shorts. A jacket, maybe; who knew if he was coming back?

Collie ended up having to go upstairs to find clothes. Mom hadn't been around lately, working too much, he supposed, he'd always been asleep or at least in his room by the time she got home lately and she was always gone before he got up. Maybe she'd run off on them. It wouldn't surprise him. Dad was a complete fucking monster when he got drunk, and lately that had been happening more and more.

Five minutes later, dressed in his only clean pair of jeans, a dark t-shirt, leather jacket, and his Anarchist bandanna, Parker headed downstairs.

He was met in the hallway by his father. He smelled like he'd been drinking and he looked like he was about ten minutes away from being like Brett and Nathan.

"Bye," Collie said, turning away and starting to head down the stairs. A hand clamped on his shoulder, and Collie turned his head. "What?"

"Where are you-" he paused to cough in Collie's face. Collie pulled the bandanna up to cover the lower half of his face. "Going?"

"Out," Collie said, and the hand left his arm. Marveling at his luck, he headed down the stairs.

Something hard hit him in the back of the head and he lurched forward, grabbing onto the railing for support. He turned back. _Shit_. The fucker had thrown a fucking unopened beer can at him. "What the hell was that for?" Collie asked. His father looked at him, looked at him like he didn't fucking care what Collie was doing.

"Don't come back," was all he said, and turned around and went back to his room. Collie gave his back the finger. This hadn't been the first time his father had kicked him out of the house, but it was the first time Collie was about to listen to him.

He was getting the hell out of Joliet and the hell out of Illinois.

Right after he rioted for a little bit.

…

It was totally fucking insane in downtown Joliet. Everyone who was even remotely healthy was breaking into places and stealing and fighting and having sex in the streets. Collie Parker kept his bandanna covering his face and wondered if he shouldn't have worn his cowboy boots. Well, who the fuck cared? He could go steal some new ones anyway.

He headed for the mall, shoving and pushing his way through the crowd, catching a fist on the side of the face and throwing the offender down to the ground where he was pounced on by the smaller rioters. "Hey, Parker!"

Ah, some of his other friends. The 'not-school' ones. The 'drug dealer, possibly' and his buddy the 'drug addict, possibly.'

"Yeah?" Parker asked, raising his voice as to be heard above the racket.

"Watcha doin' here?" Drug Dealer asked.

"Gettin' myself some new boots!" Parker said. "My old ones are fuckin' falling apart and I ain't going home anyway."

"Hurry up," Drug Dealer advised him. "Won't be long until someone decides to torch the place."

"I'll keep it in mind," Parker said, grinning and heading for the shoe store. Once there, he walked leisurely through the store – there wasn't really anyone in here; most of them seemed to just be in the mall for the fight. Parker would probably fight for a bit after he got his boots. It was a fun thing to do.

Once he found his boots he took of his shoes, chucked them at the cash register and sent it beeping like crazy, and pulled them on. A little uncomfortable – fuck, he'd forgotten to take out the stupid paper they put in them. Parker was glad nobody was around to watch him be a stupid bastard as he took off the boots and chucked the paper at the still-beeping cash register.

Now he was ready to have fun.

He shoved his way out of the shoe store. He could see small fires starting everywhere – there was a pyro in here, it seemed. Great. Parker grinned under his bandanna and shoved the nearest guy into one of said small fires. He shrieked and launched himself at Parker, who went down under this fire-guy and a bunch of other people. He caught an elbow in the face and tasted blood.

He pushed his way free, spitting blood on the ground and walking away from the fight. That had been exhilarating, of course, but he was getting bored and his bandanna had gotten ripped a bit. He was going to head out now.

He walked out of the mall, letting it burn behind him.

* * *

**at this point, stu is in the vermont plague center place. i wanted to start it sort of when the plague is about half over. there are still sick people. there are still plenty of people there to mess up a mall.**


	2. Chapter Two: Phoenix, Arizona

_**Phoenix, Arizona**_

Lloyd Henreid had just about given up on everything when he heard someone. It didn't sound like a prison guard – too happy-sounding steps for that. A cheerful whistle went along with it. One of the people a few cells down groaned and Lloyd wished that he'd shut up. Most of the people in here had died already, but there were still a few hanging onto life with everything they had.

And there was Lloyd. He wasn't even _sick_, just hungry. He'd had enough foresight to save some of his food each day when the prison guards still came and handed out food and had been rationing it out to himself. He had enough for about two more days, if that.

He'd also caught a rat, but he sort of hoped it wouldn't come to that. And, if worst came to worst…

Nope. He wasn't even going to _think _about that.

Still, if he had to…

The footsteps came closer, and Lloyd remembered what he should be doing. He jumped to his feet and yelled, yelled for the person to come this way, yelled for help, yelled with the last of everything he had. Thankfully, the footsteps came closer and closer and closer until a large, muscular, almost stupid-looking guy came into view.

"Get me out of here," Lloyd said, his voice raw from shouting. The guy shook his head and Lloyd sighed, resting his head against the bars of his cell. "_Please._ At least some food."

"I could get you some food," the guy said, nodding. "There really isn't anyone here anymore, is there? About a month ago they told me to come back later for a job, but maybe this is too late."

Lloyd wondered if maybe starvation was better than listening to this asshole ramble on about stupid things.

The guy sneezed.

Great.

He had the goddam superflu, too.

"I'm Scramm, by the way," the guy said, holding out his hand. Lloyd just sort of looked at it, and the guy let his hand drop.

"Lloyd Henreid," Lloyd said, and the guy nodded. "So, are you going to get me some food, or not?"

"Right," the guy said, hurrying away. Lloyd rolled his eyes and flopped down on his bed, listening to criminals die around him.

…

Scramm was back about twenty minutes later with an armful of food. Lloyd's eyes widened and he jumped to his feet, reaching through the bars and grabbing for it. Scramm let him take it, watching him with a sort of kind curiosity.

"What?" Lloyd asked, feeling a bit self-conscious.

"Nothing," Scramm said. He sneezed again and took the time to cough his lungs up. "You seem pretty healthy. My wife Cathy's not sick, either. She's pregnant."

Scramm seemed to swell with pride when he said these words and Lloyd decided that he wasn't going to pay attention to Scramm. He was going to eat. He wasn't going to eat it all, though, he was going to wait until Scramm left and then he was going to hide the rest under his mattress. Then maybe he wouldn't starve to death as soon.

Prolonging your own death was always a fun thing to do.

The problem was, Scramm didn't leave for a couple of hours. He sat outside Lloyd's cell and chatted and sneezed and said over and over how sorry he was that he couldn't let Lloyd out but, as well as not having the keys, he didn't think he should let a criminal go free, even though Lloyd didn't seem like that bad of a guy. Lloyd spent his time hoping that Scramm would leave, though he did sort of enjoy the company. There was one thing that was bothering him, however.

"How old are you?" Lloyd asked, and Scramm paused.

"Sixteen."

Lloyd choked on his food. _Sixteen. _Sixteen years old and married with a kid on the way. How the… how the hell did he even manage to get that done? And now he had that goddam flu and he was going to die and leave his pregnant wife alone.

"I know I sound like I'm a little young to be married, but I think it's the real thing," Scramm said, smiling at nothing. "Cathy's the best thing that ever happened to me. We even waited until we had enough money saved up before trying for a baby. I sure hope that I just have a cold, because I want to raise a real family with Cathy. But…"'

Lloyd waited. He had a bad idea of what was going to come next.

"If I die… and you somehow get out… d'you think you could try and take care of her? She's a peach, I'm sure she'll like you. She's seventeen, almost eighteen. She finished high school, too. She's smart enough for the both of us. I dropped out when I was fourteen because I didn't want to be in there when school was crowded enough already. Better to let someone else in that can do something with it, right?" Scramm coughed for almost a full minute and Lloyd scooted back almost subconsciously. "But I think I'll be fine."

"Everyone else thought they'd be fine, too," Lloyd said. "Look how they ended up."

Scramm paused and looked around. "Yeah, but I…"

"You're not any different from them," Lloyd said, laughing a little. "Just because you've got a family doesn't win you any special favors. Half of these guys had some sort of family, too. And they're all dead. Soon you'll be dead, too, and I'll be rotting away in this jail cell. Starving to death."

Scramm stood up. "I'm going to go home," he said. He was quiet. Good. Maybe he was starting to see what a dumbass he was. "Maybe I'll bring you some more food tomorrow."

"That'd be nice," Lloyd said. Scramm had stayed too long and he'd eaten too much of the food. Maybe he'd offended Scramm enough that he wouldn't stick around tomorrow.

Yeah, that'd be nice.

And who knew? Maybe Scramm didn't have the flu. Maybe it was just allergies, or a cold. Maybe Lloyd would live the rest of his life in this jail cell, surrounded by the decomposing bodies of criminals.

He hoped not.

He seriously hoped not.

* * *

**lloyd is really hard to write thank god next chapter is a walker pov it should be a bit longer sorry this one's sort of short**


	3. Chapter Three: Ogunquit, Maine

_**Ogunquit, Maine**_

There were people up ahead.

Ray Garraty could hear them. Once his mother and Jan had died he'd had to get out of there. He'd traveled south, and now he was in Ogunquit and he heard voices. Hopefully this was less of a precursor to his impending insanity and more of a 'there are actually people here.' He sped up his motorcycle – he'd taken a day to learn to drive it once Jan died and had been riding it south – in hopes of catching up to them.

There were two of them, a boy and a girl. The boy looked to be about his age but heavier and with glasses and heavy acne. The girl looked like she was probably in college – nineteen or twenty, maybe? Twenty-one at the oldest. "Hey!" Ray yelled. The girl turned to face him and a smile lit up her face. She was pretty. Not quite as pretty as Jan, but pretty all the same. Ray parked and ran to meet them. "Thank God. I haven't seen someone for… well, a long time. I'm Ray Garraty."

He stuck out his hand, feeling mildly like an asshole. The girl took it but the boy just looked at him like he was a particularly mangy dog.

"I'm Fran Goldsmith," the girl said, smiling. "And this is Harold."

"Hi," Ray said. Suddenly he felt terribly awkward. "What are you guys planning on doing? I mean, with everyone dead and all."

"We were planning on heading up to the plague center in Vermont," Harold said, speaking at last. He had a voice that made Ray want to hit him. "If anyone knows what's going on, it's them."

"Mind if I tag along?" Ray asked. Harold's upper lip curled. "I mean, if you don't want me to, that's fine, I'll just keep going by myse-"

"No, you can come with us," Fran said. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. "It'll be nice to have another person around, won't it, Harold?"

Harold looked like he didn't think that it would be nice. He sucked in a breath and Ray was ready to leave. However, he let it out harmlessly and sighed. "I suppose," he said snappishly. "But he better not be a-"

"I'm sure he's a wonderful guy," Fran said, smiling at Ray and invoking butterflies. She was a _lot _like Jan. It was bad, to be getting a kid-crush on this Fran when Jan was barely cold in the grave. If she'd been buried at all – Ray didn't know. "Where are you from?"

"Up by Freeport," Ray said. Fran nodded, and Harold went on looking annoyed. "Have you seen anyone else since…"

Fran was shaking her head before he could finish the sentence, so he didn't even both. "Just us two," she said. She looked with some interest at his motorcycle. "Motorcycles. That's an interesting idea."

"It's easier to maneuver through the cars," Ray said, shrugging. "Can you drive one?"

Fran nodded, and Harold adjusted his glasses with an anger that Ray didn't know could be present while one was adjusting one's glasses.

"You can, too, right?" Ray asked, directing this question toward Harold, who turned red with what Ray supposed was anger.

"Of course," he said. Ray nodded, a bit skeptical. "Now, can we get going?"

"I'm not the one sulking," Ray said. He shrugged and put on a mock smile. "But if you insist."

Fran looked mildly amused, and Ray was glad he'd been able to make her smile. Even her name rhymed with Jan's. Fran and Jan. Pretty, intelligent Maine girls. Of course, Fran was stuck with Harold and, from what Ray'd seen – and he wasn't very observant, either – Harold also had a kid-crush on Fran. And he, presumably, had known her longer.

But Ray still thought he had more of a chance than Harold. Not much of a chance, considering her age, but if everyone else was dead…

Alright, Ray, you've got bigger things to worry about.

"So, should we get going?" Ray asked. "You know where you're going, right?"

Harold looked offended. This seemed to be a common expression on his face. "Of course," he said. "See, we go up-"

"You can just show us, alright, Harold?" Fran asked. She smiled at Harold, but it seemed sort of strained. Harold obviously didn't notice, or maybe he chose not to notice. Ray grinned and got off of the motorcycle.

"Any chance we could grab something to eat before we set off?" he asked. "Sorry to inconvenience you, but I haven't eaten since last night. Been riding all morning and forgot to grab something before I headed off."

"That's fine," Fran said. "We can get into the grocery on Main Street. C'mon, I'll show you."

"Sounds good," Ray said. He followed her down a couple of streets, turned a couple of times, and eventually they stood in front of a grocery store. It looked like it had already been looted, but there was still food. He opened the door for Fran, bringing out his gentlemanly tendencies. She laughed a little at this, but went with it and soon the two of them were picking through the shelves, finding cookies and boxes of crackers and sodas. Ray hadn't seen him following them, but Harold stood at the door of the store, looking angry and irritated.

Ray didn't pay attention to him. He was too busy having fun picking out what he wanted to eat. He eventually ended up with a Payday, A&W Root Beer, and a bag of potato chips. Maybe not the healthiest of meals, but, hey, it would work.

He met Fran at the front of the store. She was talking to Harold in a quiet, fast whisper. Ray was tempted to listen in, but decided against it. Fran had an armful of food – she was trying to give some to Harold, it appeared, though he was refusing adamantly. Ray wondered why. Maybe it was because he was so much thicker than Ray, to put it nicely.

"Ready to find someplace to eat?" Ray asked. Fran, who apparently was done arguing with Harold, shoved a bottle of water and a bag of chips into Harold's hands. She was also carrying a loaf of bread and some peanut butter, as well as some plastic knives. "Good thinking there."

She smiled at him and they headed off to a park. Once they got there, Fran got to work making peanut butter sandwiches. "Could I have some of your chips?" she asked, and Ray surrendered them as he sucked down his root beer. She was making peanut-butter-and-potato-chip sandwiches, it seemed like. It sounded good to Ray. He'd never had a peanut-butter-and-potato-chip sandwich before, but he knew from experience that basically anything would work in a peanut butter sandwich. "We should have grabbed some summer sausage. There's nothing as good as peanut-butter-and-summer-sausage sandwiches."

Ray had had those before. He agreed with her and took one of the sandwiches to try it out. Hm. It was decent.

Yeah, he thought he was going to like traveling with these guys. Even though Harold was less than desirable company.

* * *

**ray garraty stop it you weren't supposed to have a crush on fran**


End file.
